


fall on your knees, o hear the angel voices

by ElasticElla



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Holidays, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21863110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: “Come to bed dear, the fourth years can wait until Tuesday, my toes can’t.”“You do look rather cozy,” she grants, marking one last thing on Patil’s homework.
Relationships: Charity Burbage/Minerva McGonagall
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	fall on your knees, o hear the angel voices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thriceandonce (sylvaine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvaine/gifts).



> title from o holy night 
> 
> for the [sapphic stocking stuffers](https://elasticella.dreamwidth.org/25483.html) come play \o/

Minerva was once used to celebrating the holidays alone. Well, alone is a callous word considering the students that stayed behind in the castle. And celebrating is perhaps a touch too strong given her nearly bare quarters. 

There is a single decoration, a grand tree of gold trimmed with silver flickering lights. It’s gaudy and ridiculous, and as Minerva sits next to it, clutching a mug of hot chocolate, she can’t quiet discern the type of tears dripping down. She doesn’t even know if the room feels full because of the oversized tree, or empty from the obvious loss. 

(She misses her, she loves her, god does she love her.)

.

“Come to bed dear, the fourth years can wait until Tuesday, my toes can’t.” 

Minerva looks up from her grading, sees just the top of Charity’s face peeking out from the covers, fuzzy blankets pulled up to her nose. “You do look rather cozy,” she grants, marking one last thing on Patil’s homework. 

“So cozy, if only you were here.” 

Minerva blows out her desk candle, the only light now a dim glow from Charity’s wand. Joining her in bed, her lover looks positively giddy. Minerva feels like a kid again, skiving off Binn’s homework. It’s a common feeling around Charity- that somehow she tricked this glorious woman into loving her. 

“I didn’t think that would work,” Charity says, dotting sweet kisses all over her face. 

“It didn’t,” Minerva confesses, “I was on the last one.” 

Charity fakes a gasp, “Well in that case…” And her fingers find her belly easily, tickling charms springing from her fingertips.

.

“I’m going to publish it,” Charity says, and Minerva puts down the parchment. Her hands quiver, and she fists them in her lap, trying not to frown or shout. 

“They’ll kill you,” Minerva says, forcing her voice even, can’t keep out the hoarseness. But Charity knows, doesn’t even blink at her statement. 

“They might,” she corrects gently. “But people need the truth now more than ever.” 

“Such a Gryffindor,” she says gruffly. 

Charity laughs, “No you are, always valuing your house first.” 

Her cheeks burn, and she knows what a proud badger she is, “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Don’t worry, you can make it up to me,” Charity says, eyes twinkling. 

(An hour or so later, Charity is curled up in her arms, fast asleep. And Minerva knows it’s terribly selfish and cowardly of her, but all she wants is for Charity to change her mind about the article. Or at least to take her name off of it.)

.

There’s a new Muggle Studies teacher, and unlike the last, this one actually seems to know what she’s talking about. She even took four years away from the wizarding world to get a muggle degree, to truly experience what their lives are like. Charity’s worldly in a way few witches are, and Minerva finds herself curious, listening in on conversations between her and Sybil about muggle divination. (It sounds just about as reputable and Minerva bites her tongue, won’t alienate herself to the newcomer because of _Sybil_.)

Charity is fascinating. 

She’s going to know her one day.

.

“It’s the first big snow of the season, c’mon! I promise, I’ll even set up a little privacy snowfall curtain thingy.” 

Minerva snorts at how casually Charity refers to sustainable weather magic, a skill that took her no less than a decade to master. It’s largely impractical, fell out of common use a few decades ago, and Minerva herself never learned it due to the time sink. There’s plenty of spells that can mimic the effects, if only while being maintained. (How often does one truly need to create a raging thunderstorm that will last forty nights independently?)

“If _one_ Weasley finds us-” Minerva starts, still hasn’t forgotten the twin troublemakers interrupting their midnight swim months ago. 

“They won’t!” Charity chirps happily, taking her hand and heading out. 

It’s a postcard winter wonderland outside: the snow falling gently, Hogwarts in the distance, delicate icicles hanging off branches, a thick blanket of white smothering everything. Charity brought them to a pair of hills, summoning a sled. As an afterthought, she charms a few clouds to give them cover, a circle of heavier snowfall between them and the castle. Hogwarts is barely visible now, and Charity sits on the sled, expectant. 

Minerva tucks her wand up her sleeve and sits behind her, arms around her middle. “Ready?” 

Charity nods rapidly, her hat’s pompom tickling her nose. A small acceleration charm, and they’re off, sled speeding down and up the hills. Charity’s giggles are lost to the wind, but she can feel her diaphragm shaking, adrenaline racing through both of them, and Minerva grins with absolute delight. 

.

There’s a somber owl carrying a black letter. Her name is penned in gold, and trembling fingers open it. She already knows what it’ll say, but the words hit hard all the same, feel more final than Severus’s dry report. 

- _listed as Charity Burbage’s emergency contact. We are sorry to inform you that Ms. Burbage’s wand was found, our condolences. No body_ -

.

Minerva pauses as she enters their living quarters. “What is that?” 

“You said nothing living-” 

“It’s a _tree_ Charity-” 

“-a statue really-” 

“-as if there aren’t enough trees in the Great Hall?” 

“But this one is ours, and you don’t have to water it.” 

Her lips twitch, and Minerva has a new suspicion about the garish golden tree. “Did you think I would change my mind to an evergreen if you brought this in? Compromise perhaps?” 

Charity looks away, clearly holding back a laugh, “I’m more than happy to stick with the statue if you like it dear.” 

“Good.” 

Charity’s eyes go wide, and Minerva continues with gusto, “Because I simply adore it.” 

“No-” 

“Oh yes, in fact, I think we should celebrate our new, ah, tree with some cocoa.” 

“You’re impossible,” Charity says with a smile, leaning up on her toes to kiss her. 

“I love you too.”


End file.
